


La familiarité engendre le mépris

by billystar



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brief Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kinda, M/M, Main Character Death, Stockholm Syndrome, or is it???, sass baguette being ass soft as they can i guess, trauma induced amnesia i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billystar/pseuds/billystar
Summary: When Neil arrives at the nest he thinks he can make it, until Riko tells him that Andrew is dead and that there's no hope left for him. He clings to the sense of familiarity Jean gives him.





	La familiarité engendre le mépris

**Author's Note:**

> One of my pieces for the Exy or Death zine that i had been sitting on for a long while! Hope y'all enjoy the angst lmao
> 
> thanks 2 @littlepluto 4 beta-ing and making me fucking write somethin 4 once

It was Sunday, December 17th. Thirty four days since Andrew had left. One day since Riko had threatened Neil with Andrew’s name. One day since he had punched Riko, twice. Two weeks until he’s back at Palmetto. Fourteen days until he’s safe, sixteen for Andrew. 

 

The flight wasn’t comfortable, except for the reassuring thoughts that he was a fox, they were his family and they would be waiting for him back at Palmetto State, back home. He drifted off with these thoughts bouncing around his brain and woke up when he was hit with the plane juddering to the ground. 

 

Jean was waiting for him, face cold but voice sharp and on edge, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

 

“Let’s go.” Neil wasn’t taking advice from someone weak enough to bow to Riko, he didn’t care what he should or shouldn’t have done. He was there now and he was getting this over and done with.

 

-

 

It was Sunday, December 17th. He was covered in bruises and lacerations; his head swimming from the knock against the lockers, but Jean was still stripping him of his clothes. His scars were bared to the empty locker room before he was forced into the red and black. His hands listlessly held onto the racket pushed to his chest and he realised they expected him to play. Jean who had seen the extent of the beating he received was expecting him to play, and play he did. But not without receiving heavy hits from Riko’s racquet every time he failed to stop the striker.

 

He was tripping over his feet an hour in, and every time he fell Jean was there to pick him up: like he had said, they were in it together. But that didn’t mean Jean deigned to speak with him, not even as he was receiving those same heavy handed swings to his legs, back, stomach - every inch of his body Riko deemed suitable.

 

Jean didn’t speak with him throughout the whole clean up of the court and locker room. It was only when his knees hit the tiled flooring of the shower he said anything. 

 

“You should have run.”

 

And as Neil snapped back, he thought of how tired of running he was, how two weeks of this was worth all the time he got to spend with the foxes, with Andrew.

 

He was tired, tired of this man who was his only option of alliance in the nest; tired of Riko’s sociopathy; tired of the kind of life he was forced into living. He couldn’t even think as he put on his clothes and forced himself to eat in the Raven’s kitchen.

 

He couldn’t even be bothered to think as Jean locked the door, as Riko pulled out a switchblade and pressed it to his lips. His attitude was automatic and body compliant as the cuffs snapped round his wrists - he couldn’t bring himself to regret spitting in Riko’s face: the self entitled fuck deserved it.

 

-

 

Night practice was hell. Jean woke him up with a jug of water to his face again. His chest was stitched tight, making it hard to sit up, let alone practice exy for hours on end, especially in a position he hadn’t played in for almost nine years. Tetsuji was there watching his every move: watching as Riko’s racquet slammed into his stomach for the nth time, as Jean pulled him off the floor and whispered harshly in French to “get his fucking act together”. At the end of night practice, he and Jean had to once again clean the court and locker rooms - all whilst Tetsuji was watching over them like a hawk. When they had finally finished and Neil was ready to collapse in the shower once again - dizzy from the blood weeping from his split stitches and the heavy weight of his bruised limbs - Tetsuji approached the two, cane in hand and Riko at his right shoulder. 

 

“Are you ready to kneel, Nathaniel?” His voice was cool and condescending and it took all of Neil’s energy to mumble out a trite “fuck you” before his knees buckled and he was leaning against Jean’s side. It was only when he was sinking to the ground did he notice the pressure of Jean’s hands against his shoulders and the seething rage plastered over Riko’s face.

 

Neil supposed it was easier for him to bend than break at this point, and with one last glare aimed at Riko, he gave up on trying to stay conscious.

 

-

 

Something softer woke him this time, a persistent nudge at his shoulder, “Wesninski, get your ass up.”

 

“Go away, Jean,” he grumbled into the pillow, wincing as stitches pulled against the small movement when he adjusted his arm.

 

“Don’t make me get the water again. Riko’s already left so we have less than 20 minutes to eat and get ready for practice. I let you rest for as long as I could, Nathaniel.” There was an edge to Jean’s voice, a slight hysteria that made Neil concede.

 

“Help me stand up and I’ll be fine” and Jean did - without any delicacy or care for Neil’s body. He managed to get Neil dressed and to the kitchen within five minutes, and into the locker room in another five. This was the first time Neil had been made to change his clothes around the Ravens and in a state as damaged as his, he couldn’t find the energy to be self-conscious about his scars.

 

After painfully struggling with the bottom half of his uniform, he let Jean help him with his top half, showing his scars and fresh wounds off with a forced nonchalance that makes even some of the Raven’s wince - not in sympathy or pity, but in fear of what could happen to them. 

 

They didn’t say anything to him: the only Ravens that spoke to him were Riko and Jean. 

 

It was then that he realised how utterly alone he was inside the nest.

 

-

 

He tried harder at practice; his mind full of the thought that Jean was the only person he had and that if he made Jean hate him, the nest would become even worse over the coming weeks. For the two weeks he was here, Jean was his ally.

 

But just because he tried harder didn’t mean that the Ravens were any less relentless, or that he didn’t have at least 30 stitches in his body, or that he wasn’t bruised black and blue. He still stumbled over his feet, let Riko dodge past him towards the goal and received multiple punishments that were doled out equally onto Jean.

 

Neil realised that no matter what, for him it was a losing game. But he needed to survive.

 

-

 

The next few days passed in a blur of training, eating as much as he could stomach in the Nest’s kitchen and having knives pressed into his skin on a routine basis - Jean was there for all of it.

 

It was after morning practice, on what Neil thought was a thursday, where the almost-monotony was broken. He and Jean were once again left to clean up the court and locker room - Neil berating himself for his mistakes before Jean had his chance to - when his tirade was interrupted by a pair of faceless Ravens knocking on the plastic court walls before shouting across the stretch of wood flooring, “When you’re finished Riko wants to see you. Don’t make him wait.”

 

After the two walked away Neil and Jean continued their cleanup, the frenchman hastening his pace and leaving Neil to follow his example. By the end of it, Jean’s hands were shaking.

 

The two made their way through the nest, Neil already distancing himself from the situation - the same thing always happened when Riko called for them. Always. By the time they were standing outside Riko’s room, Jean’s hands were still and Neil was barely responsive but they made their way into the room all the same, black hair hanging low over Jean’s face as he ducked his head in a gross imitation of a bow.

 

Immediately Riko responded to their presence, directing them so Neil was cuffed to the bed, Jean weighing down his ankles; his bone white fingers wrapped around delicate skin.

 

And then the monotony was broken. With a warped smile, Riko stood before them and announced: “Andrew Minyard is dead.”

 

And Neil snapped.

 

-

 

Neil had missed out on afternoon practice. Jean was going to kill him - or rather Riko was going to kill Jean and then him. Neil didn’t care.

 

Andrew was dead. Andrew Minyard was dead. The one man who he thought could save him was dead.

 

And Neil was stuck in the Raven’s Nest, lying bloody and broken in Kevin Day’s old bedroom - he couldn’t be further from home.

 

Home had become wherever Andrew was, and with Andrew dead did he really have one anymore? Was Palmetto State still a safe haven when he knew the Moriyamas would be looming? When his father’s men would find out who he was soon enough? 

 

Was Palmetto State still home without Andrew Minyard?

 

Neil had no idea. He let himself fall back into a fitful rest, breathing in the stale scent of unchanged sheets and dried blood.

 

-

 

He didn’t know what day it was anymore, he was too tired to bother. Neil was in a state that had combined his haze of mourning and a reluctant determination to keep Jean and himself alive.

 

He had kneeled when The Master asked, when Riko had asked - he was avoiding punishment from them by following the rules, even so, he no longer had the energy to go against them. At this point, he was just trying to survive. 

 

Less punishments meant less injuries, so Neil was no longer stumbling over his own feet whenever he moved, but actively participating in Raven practices. When he stopped a striker from reaching the goal for the first time, he looked at Jean and received a crooked smile in return, filled with something akin to pride or relief. Riko’s smile was sharper.

 

-

 

After night practice on that same day, sleep alluded Neil. Riko was sleeping comfortably on the other side of the room, bloody knife resting on his bedside table - the blood wasn’t dripping any longer.

 

Neil sat up in Kevin’s bed and pulled the covers aside, his new stitches were tugging at the movement but he ignored the pain in favour of making his way out into the corridor and then padding along until he reached Jean’s room.

 

Even when he pushed the door open as quietly as he could, the visible shape of the Frenchman tensing under the covers still made him hesitate before he made made his way over.

 

“Jean, est-ce-que je peut dormir avec toi?”  _ Jean, can I sleep with you? _ A sudden jerk at the sound of the French rolling of Neil’s tongue, and more than the tufts of Jean’s dark hair were visible above the covers - his eyes were a resigned kind of furious.

 

“You should be in Riko’s room, not here, shit, Nathaniel.” He sat up, running a hand down his face before complying, “Only for tonight, don’t let this become a habit.”

 

Neil climbed in with an injured grace as Jean settled back down, his took the opportunity of the little to no space to press his back comfortably against Jean’s chest and the other’s counter move was to wrap his arm around Neil’s waist; it was a perfect mimicry of how he spent his nights when Mary was alive. He felt safe.   
  


-

 

“Nathaniel, wake up”, A voice murmurs above him. 

 

Neil shifts minutely and tries to open his sleep sticky eyes, “Andrew?”

 

A huff, “No, he’s gone, Nathaniel,” a softer sigh, “Mon Dieu, I can’t stand you.”

 

“Okay, Andrew”, his thoughts dissolve into nothing, he’s asleep again.

 

-

 

Jean’s hands were combing through the wet strands of Neil’s hair, and Neil could see that the dye he was using was a glaring kind of red that aligned with his natural hair colour. Neil didn’t want to cry, but as he avoided Riko’s gaze he had to blink away his watery eyes, he couldn’t be weak. He was Neil Josten and he would return to the Palmetto State Foxes once this was all over.

 

Above him Jean was offering a gentle comfort and Riko ranted about how quickly his first week had passed and how this was only one of his “gifts”. When Neil didn’t reply with a thank you, or even a confirmation that he had heard, a strong hand batted Jean’s away and wrapped itself forcefully between the tangles, tugging it back so he was made to look at Riko above him.

 

“Say thank you, Nathaniel.” A slanted grin shaped his face, his eyes steely like a predators and Neil knew Riko would not hesitate to eat him alive. Neil didn’t care.

 

“Thank you, Nathaniel.” He snarked, looking Riko right in the eyes - it was enough to gain a small punishment, Neil knew, but not enough that it would also affect Jean. Neil knew that this moment was all about him.

 

Riko released his hair and swung his arm sharply for a blow across Neil’s face - a stinging slap that made his eyes water again. The hand was back in his hair and pulling tightly in seconds, Riko’s face was devoid of anything but anger as he spoke again, “Now you have to apologise and thank me, you absolute cretin. Make sure you do it properly this time.”

 

The press of a hand against the back of his neck was familiar in ways he had begun to forget, but he also knew it was a warning from Jean. ‘Behave’.

 

And so Neil did. 

 

He found out his second gift was the number four, plastered on his face indefinitely. He did not like the gift and Riko did not like his attitude. So it was punishment for both Jean and him this time - he was no longer a separate entity to his Nest partner. His stay was beginning to feel permanent.

 

-

 

The afternoon he broke was not a normal afternoon. It was the first practice that hadn’t ended in Jean and himself on cleanup duty, and he was pleased, elated even that they were no longer on the bottom rung of the Nest’s fucked up hierarchy. That was the first sign something was wrong.

 

The second was that he spoke to some other than Jean, to do something other than to yell plays or orders from Riko. He had a tattoo now and he was sick of them avoiding him like a disease. 

 

The third was when he responded to “Wesninski” without the small shudder it usually brought. He followed Jean out the locker and began to chatter to him about the practice.

 

Lastly was when he went to the toilet and after washing his hands he caught himself in the mirror that he usually avoided. One small flash of red, and he couldn’t look away. 

 

Did Neil really exist when he looked so much like Nathaniel? Would Neil have the number four tattooed on his face, proudly labelling him Moriyama property? Would Neil bend his knee to The Master and cater to Riko’s needs?

 

He didn’t know anymore. He thought then, that Neil had died the second he began walking down those twenty-six steps.

 

-

 

He found Riko with The Master after night practice and bent to kneel when it was instructed, but still met their eyes with an assuredness that could only belong to a Wesninski.

 

“Master, I was wondering if I could transfer into Jean’s room. I feel like the rules are being bent for only me in terms of having to be with my partner, and like I am intruding on both Riko and Kevin’s private space if I continue to stay there past my transfer.”

 

The Master’s cold face was pleased; the smile on Riko’s was manic. He knew that this was where he was meant to be. The Foxes wouldn’t want him now.

 

-

 

From then on he was with Jean constantly: every night he would climb into Jean’s bed, his back to Jean’s chest. Every night Jean would whisper “I hate you” but still tuck his arm round Nathaniel’s waist and pull him ever so slightly closer.

 

After every punishment they took, they would sew each other up and clean each other’s wounds. They would massage the tension out of each other's bodies, in the hope that their limbs would not stiffen up enough to make practice difficult.

 

They would eat together, sleep together, shower together - they spoke in secret tongues when Riko was not around to hear them and go over strategies to one up the other Ravens. They needed to keep their numbers.

 

Jean was there when his father came to see him for the first time. Was there to stitch up the gashes on his skin where the Butcher had had his fun and doled out his punishment. Was there to pour liquor into his mouth to dull the pain. Was there to wrap his strong limbs around Nathaniel like a cage to keep people out. Was there to speak to him in French when he was delirious from the pain and crying out for his mother.

 

Jean was there when no one else had been. Nathaniel didn’t know what he was feeling but it made his stomach knot in worry.

 

-

 

The first time they kissed was a few days after his father’s visit. It was on a Wednesday. It was the twenty fourth of January and Kengo Moriyama had been hospitalised. Nathaniel’s heartbeat was a frantic, jackrabbiting pace under his skin and as soon as he was alone with Jean, he tugged sharply at his collar to press his lips against the other’s desperately. Jean did not push him away, but instead drew him closer with shaking limbs and shuddering breaths. There was fear and desperation in his grey eyes and Nathaniel couldn’t bear to look but instead squeezed his eyes shut and ignored the tears pushing their way through.

 

-

 

Half a month passes. Jean and Nathaniel are making a decent recovery from the events considering the circumstances. Nathaniel continues to press kisses to Jean’s lips and Jean continues to reciprocate in faux reluctance. They were partners and Nathaniel could read Jean like a book, he knew it was faux when Jean told him that he “hated” him, that he “couldn’t stand” him; Nathaniel was scared because it was faux. 

 

When they lay together that night, Nathaniel turns to Jean, pressing a hand to his chest and sliding it down to press at Jean’s cock through his sweatpants. Nathaniel can see Jean doesn’t know how to react, but he continues his actions by pulling the pants off his legs with a manufactured confidence. 

 

They end up desperately grinding against each other, breathing hotly into one another’s neck, sucking up bruises, because what were a few more amongst the myriad of ones spawned from hatred. 

 

They’re too scared to look at each other. 

 

Jean cleans them up.

 

Ten days later Kengo is hospitalised again. They are scared.

 

-

 

It was after their game against the USC Trojan’s that Nathaniel spotted them, eight players, a coach and a nurse sitting together in the stands, watching as he shook hands with the opposite team. He must be imagining it, there was no way there were ten of them there. Andrew was dead, right?  
  


-

 

That day was the day he was finally made to face the music of the press. It was entirely by accident, but they caught him walking through the back corridors of the stadium with only Jean by his side. In the silence of the hallway Nathaniel could clearly hear the first question asked:

 

“What did you think of your old teammates being here to watch you, Mr. Wesninski?” Nathaniel froze, Jean froze with him. The next question came.

 

“Is it true that the reason you left The Foxes was because of Andrew Minyard’s admittance into rehab and Aaron Minyard’s court case?” He went to turn around and speak out, Jean grabbed his arm.

 

“Why was it that, at the press conference where the Foxes resigned from playing this season due to lack of members, Andrew Minyard attacked a journalist, shouting for him not to call you ‘Nathaniel Wesninski’?” Nathaniel drew in a shuddering breath and tried to yank his arm out of Jean’s grip, but Jean held strong.

 

-

 

Nathaniel was dragged through the winding maze of corridors, getting away from the press to where Riko was waiting for them and he lashed out.

 

“Why the hell did you tell Andrew was dead?! What even was the point of that?!” Nathaniel’s voice was mixed parts confusion and anger.

 

“You’re a troublemaker, Nathaniel. If we hadn’t, you would’ve been much worse off than you are now.” Riko seemed unaffected by Nathaniel’s anger, and chose to ignore the “fuck you” thrown in his direction, walking off and leaving Jean and Nathaniel to follow behind him.

 

Nathaniel turns to Jean and whispers secretively in French, “I feel like I loved him, Jean. Did I love him like I love you? I can’t remember, Jean. I can’t remember.” His voice was fragile and his usually hardened eyes were soft and scared, and Jean couldn’t do a thing except whisper harshly, “what the fuck, Wesninski? I hate you.” 

 

Nathaniel can practically taste the lie on his lips when he shoves Jean against the wall and kisses him after Riko turns the corner ahead of them. He feels his eyes water, but tries not to let the tears fall.


End file.
